


Mine

by ChocoNut



Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [37]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Mild Smut, passionate lovemaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26213872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoNut/pseuds/ChocoNut
Summary: On the way back from Harrenhal, Brienne escorts Jaime to a bath in a river
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tales of love (Season 3/4) [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483640
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	Mine

“I’ll be right there,” she says, and huffs away as soon as she’s hauled him back onto the hard ground.

“Why so shy?” Jaime calls out, half hoping she might spare him a glance as he drags the tattered apology for a towel up and down his chest. He’s been in and out of the water but her eyes have been carefully out of his reach, keeping away, keeping him away. “Nothing has changed since the last time you pulled me out of a bath.”

A lot has changed, he knows it deep down, and he can sense her agreement in this matter. Still facing the other side, the wench doesn’t answer. Nor does she budge from her perch on the rock.

“I'm quite capable of patting myself dry and putting on these rags,” he boasts, but like Harrenhal, he knows he needs her around, though he can’t bring himself to plainly admitting it to her. “I can find my way back to the camp,” he goes on, itching to extract an answer out of her when she continues to remain silent. “You don’t have to stay here on a vigil—”

“I’d rather not let you out of my sight. I can’t afford to let anything happen to you,” she gruffly replies, but he can sense a tremor in her voice. He is thrown back to everything she has done for him—cleaning his piss and shit, putting up with his incessant grumbling and taunts. She’s done more for him than a wife would for her beloved husband.

This flurry of memories gets him to stop talking and he tries to wriggle back into his shirt, but as soon as he gets one arm into it, the other slips out, and all he can manage for a few frustrating moments is an aimless flailing of his arms. “I’ll be fine,” he retorts, his helplessness soaring to the skies when his head gets tangled in the garment. But more than that, it is the distance she’s trying to keep that’s pissing him off. “If it is the girls and the exchange you’re worried about—”

He draws to a pause when he hears angry footsteps stamping across to him, and before he knows it, firm hands take charge, tugging him free of his entrapment. When he can see again, he finds her looking him up and down.

“Want to ravish me, wench?” he teases, when her eyes make it to his half-hard cock, wishing it to be true despite his efforts to steer clear of such thoughts. “Trying to decide if I’m worth your first time—” 

She gets his shirt out of the way, and snatching the towel from him, she starts to pat him dry, eyes pinned to her task, hands steady as ever. “I’m trying to decide which is worse—your sloppy attempt to wipe yourself dry or the clumsy mess you’ve made of your shirt.”

Her face ground-wards, he cannot make out if she’s blushing or not, but he finds himself hoping for the best. “Try doing it with one hand,” he hits back, his erection twitching every time her fingers meet his skin. “I’m sure that’s all you’ll be able—”

“Stand still,” she barks, and he obeys, his eyes following her hands when she reaches out to his chest to catch a stream of water on its way down to his navel. His sense of helplessness ebbs away, but a new kind of frustration takes over, his heart pounding faster when she rubs down the piece of cloth to intercept it before it can make it to his groin. With his pulse rises _something else_ , going up a notch, maybe higher.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises, softening, his guilt gushing out as he watches her deftly carry on. “That was uncalled for. You cared for me and not just for the vow—”

“ _Care_ ,” she corrects him, a softness in her tone he’s never heard before, a gentle shiver in her fingers he’s never felt before. “I still do.” She bestows upon him the courtesy of her lovely gaze, the stars above filling her beautiful eyes, the glow of the full moon on her face. “You saved my life, my honour—”

“And I’ll do it again.” Jaime closes his hand on hers. He can feel his heart hammering against his ribs, yelling at him to shout it out to her, nudging him to listen to his inner voice, to pay heed to what he truly desires. “I will, until the end of my days, my lady.” 

Her cheeks are flushed, that he can make out even in the moonlight. With a fluttering smile she places her other hand on his, the towel dropping out of her grip, down, forgotten. And he is lost too, forgetting all else, the wilderness around them, the serenity of the river, the roofless tent of dusk around them. The longer he looks into her eyes, the clearer he can see it. Love, he can see, boundless and unconditional, in such abundance, that he finds himself sinking deeper in her. 

Her fingers press into his and his, in turn, into hers. He has nothing to conceal, not just in body, all of him lain bare before her. And a comforting sense of security, he uncovers, in such vulnerability. Something there is, that binds him to her. And in her captivity is an exhilarating sense of freedom he’s never felt before. He sees it all, this and more, and so deep in her, he finds himself sinking, so much that he can let go of the woes of the days that have gone. 

He shrugs off the Kingslayer shroud he’s had wrapped around him all along, embracing the Knight within, the man he’s been yearning to be. He can see himself, what he can be. And he can see her. Holding them together in an unbreakable invisible tether is a life to come. 

He is alive. He can feel his blood singing, awaiting, wanting this and more to unfold.

He steps in to kiss her, and she returns his affection, warm lips upon his, curiously searching, seeking what she needs, drinking in what he can give her. A quick burst of their desire, it is, tentative, although passionate, and bringing along with it, a feverish need for more, an ache spreading all over, an urgency that rushes through them like the water gushing by their side.

She doesn’t cease kissing him until he breaks to catch his breath. She doesn’t stop him, either, shaking hands aiding his when he takes to clumsily undressing her. He unwraps her bit by bit, pausing to savour the moonlight upon her pale skin, to admire the body he has, until now, only bothered to criticize. 

Tonight, he takes his time to feast his eyes on her. Tonight, she looks like the Maiden herself has descended down to him. Tonight, she’s beautiful, she’s perfect, right from the scent of her arousal to the last freckle awaiting his touch. 

Tonight, and every night, his beauty, she shall be.

He wants his body to be wrapped around hers, his skin to feel hers and nothing else tonight, under this beautiful starry sky. 

He lays her down on the soft grass and kisses her again, kisses more than her lips. She sighs when his mouth grazes her throat. She hoists her leg, her knee brushing his hardness as his teeth scrape her skin. She bites her lip when he buries his face in her breasts, breathing in and breathing out to the racing rhythm of her heart. He parts her thighs and a gasp slips her lips as she reveals herself for the first time. 

He doesn’t know what it is that makes him want her more than he does. Her breasts, rising and falling, the hardened pink buds of her nipples trapped between his fingers? Or her thighs gripping and clenching him when he slips a finger inside her? Or is it the wildly arousing sensation when her hips push up into his, thrashing, slapping into him? 

His strokes get deeper, and her moans get louder, her fingers gouging out blades of grass in helplessness as he drives her up an endless ladder. 

_Mine,_ says her body as she soaks him with herself. 

She gazes deep into his eyes, and he can see his soul in them.

 _Yours,_ he answers with his, his lips meeting hers as he enters her in a slow, tentative breach.

He shivers, plunging into her, venturing where none had been before, touching her like she’s never been touched before. She trembles beneath him and he soothes her with tender kisses and gentle caresses. 

Further and beyond, he embarks on a quest within her, seeking something that has been eluding him all along. 

He pushes deeper, unable to help a feral grunt, and she breathes his name, reaching up to meet him. Once. Again. Until she goes on and on, a sensuous chant, each bearing a promise that she will look upon no other, each hiding within it, a primal demand. 

A slow and throaty exhale against his lips, kisses like drops of rain, wordless wows, one and many, and he knows she will be his forever. Her arms wind around his back, hands meeting and fingers linking into one another to lock him into her, deeper into the folds of her intimacy, the nameless bond between them, strengthening with every thrust. 

“Jaime,” she cries out, in the way only a soulmate can utter her lover’s name.

This is all that matters. It is everything. She is the light guiding him out of the darkness, his knight in shining armour, his conscience, his heart, his soul.

And he will remember it all, cherish this for life, for what he finds in this blissful oneness with her is what he’s been searching for.

This, he can do anything to keep. Her, he will do anything for.

Her fingers clenched around his back, hips bucking into his, heels pressing deep into his flesh. The possession with which she holds him. The lustful glide of her lips down his throat, the kisses that are and the ones that almost are. The air she breathes, that she bathes him with.

Her—everything about her.

Her walls begin to take him, squeezing, caressing, embracing him. _Mine,_ he can feel her body claim, _always mine._

 _Mine,_ is all he can sense, when she comes crumbling around him.

 _Mine,_ is the only word he can hear, when her lips move in a soft murmur of his name.

_Mine._

_And she is mine._

He doesn’t last longer after that. He doesn’t even want to. With her, he belongs, every kiss, every touch and every moment of whatever this is. 

He strokes her flushed, sweaty face. He lets his lips trail down the harsh redness of her scar and across her heaving breasts. Her skin is still burning, her heart racing to beat his, her teats still yearning for more, begging for his mouth. He kisses her over and over again, lets the feel of her skin and lips sink further within him. He wants to ascertain that this is real, that their bodies are, indeed, a tangled knot of flesh and bones, that they are one, joined in a union that cannot be undone, the gods above, the witnesses to their unspoken vows.

“Jaime,” she whispers again, eyes surpassing the brilliance of the stars that shine above.

The way she says it burns into him, goes deeper than he can imagine.

“Yours,” he whispers back, the word bearing a new meaning when it comes to her.


End file.
